


running towards you

by memitims



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Season 2, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>four times mickey wasn't ready, and one time he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	running towards you

**Author's Note:**

> requested by **[one-toomany](http://one-toomany.tumblr.com/)** ("I'm sorry, I'm not ready yet, ok?")

Mickey comes back from juvie and he and Ian fuck in the pale moonlight that streams in through the cracks of the dugout fence, and they get drunk on cheap beer and sit on the ground and lean against the wooden bench, their shoulders touching and their bodies closer than Mickey thinks they probably should be.

They come to the dugout often, and Mickey’s pretty sure they spend more time sitting and talking than fucking, and Mickey should have a problem with that, but he can’t seem to bring himself to care. Pressing against Ian in the darkness beats anything else Mickey could possibly be doing.

Ian’s mouth looks even more tempting when Mickey’s drunk, if that’s possible, and his brain starts to imagine leaning forward and pressing his lips against the shiny-red of Ian’s and he’s so fucking close to doing it, but his head feels like concrete and he can’t move and he wonders if he’s doomed to only guess what Ian’s lips taste like for the rest of his life.

He wants to smash their mouths together and he wants to hear the messy clack of their teeth and he wants to touch Ian’s skin and he wants them to collide so hard that they feel the way they care about each other in the bottom of their bones, but he also wants to not fucking care this much about Ian Gallagher, or at least go back to a time when he didn’t realize how much he cared.

Ian rolls his lower lip between his teeth, the way he does when he’s thinking hard about something and Mickey tracks the movement with his eyes.

“Sure was quiet around here without you,” Ian says, his voice quiet and his words a little slurred.

 _I missed you too_ , Mickey thinks. He almost wants to turn back the clock to the first time Ian visited him in juvie, when he grinned and reached towards Mickey with careful fingers and Mickey had to hide his own smiles, he wants to turn back the clock and tell Ian he misses him too, to get it over with when it wasn’t as dangerous, because Ian was separated by glass and Mickey couldn’t touch him and see his dumb lopsided smile up close.

Mickey’s drunk and he wants to kiss Ian Gallagher, but he can’t, he’s not ready, because that would burn his whole world to the ground and Mickey doesn’t yet know how to deal with the flames.

Ian starts talking about West Point again and Mickey watches his mouth and his heart sinks in his chest when he remembers that this whole thing is a fucking time bomb, because Ian has dreams and aspirations and he works hard and he’s gonna get out of Chicago, and Mickey’s gonna be left alone with a torch lit for Ian Gallagher burning him up inside.

\---

“Wanna go get pizza?” Ian asks, barreling into Mickey’s room one afternoon after work - Ian needed to go home to help Debbie finish up with her daycare business, like he’d promised her, but Mickey’s father was out for the evening so he told Ian that he could come over after - and Mickey spins around in his chair and catches the hopeful look on Ian’s face.

“Like call it in?”

“No,” Ian says. “Like actually go to the pizza place and buy some. I’ll pay.”

Something flutters in Mickey’s chest and he feels his mouth get dry. “Oh. You mean like. Like a date.”

Ian nods.

“Gallagher,” Mickey says, because calling him by his last name is always safer, it helps him pretend that the taste of Ian’s name in his mouth isn’t the best thing in the world and that he would say it all the time if he could. “I can’t. I just - I fucking can’t.”

 _Sorry_ , he wants to add, but he’s already said too much. He can’t deal with an apology too, Milkoviches don’t apologize, that’s what his father always taught him, they have some sort of fucked-up notion of pride that doesn’t let them.

His father also taught him that the worst thing he could possibly want is to hold Ian’s hand. And it’s too late for that.

Ian’s face falls and Mickey wants to take it all back, for a second, before he remembers what Ian was asking. A fucking date. In public. More like Mickey digging his own fucking grave, and he wishes the world doesn’t work this way, adds it to the heap of things about his life that are so fucking unfair, and he doesn’t have the guts to just fucking say yes to Ian.

He can’t go on a date with Ian and he can’t give Ian everything that he wants and he kinda hates himself for it. Except then Ian smiles understandingly at him and reminds Mickey that there are good things in the world, too.

“Okay,” Ian shrugs. “It’s okay. We’ll just get some delivered.”

And so they do, and when Ian goes to answer the door after the delivery lady rings the doorbell, Mickey clears off the table and sets two places and finds a small white candle in the back of one of Mandy’s drawers, lighting it and putting it on the middle of the table like he’s seen in the fancy restaurants on television.

Ian doesn’t say anything about it when he gets back, and Mickey’s glad about that, because it’s fucking sappy enough already, he doesn’t need Ian making it worse, and he watches Ian smile in the glow of the candlelight and it might not be as good as the real deal, but it doesn’t mean that Mickey’s heart doesn’t feel like it’s gonna beat right out of his chest and show Ian exactly how fucking happy he is, despite all the fear and uncertainty and distance that sits between them.

\---

Ian’s buried inside Mickey, fucking him deep and slow and holding his hair gently on Mickey’s bed, when they hear the front door open. He hears Mandy call out his name and they jump apart, toppling onto the floor and quickly scrambling for their clothes.

“Shit,” Mickey says under his breath, pulling his pants onto his legs and grabbing a nearby t-shirt. He smoothes down his hair and watches Ian do the same, and they stare at each other for a few seconds, their eyes wide and hair wild and Ian’s looking hotter than Mickey’s ever seen him, but he can’t think about that right now.

“You could always tell her,” Ian whispers.

He’s thought about it a few times actually, but then he can’t picture himself saying those words to Mandy, he can’t even tell Ian what they are, what this means (and it means everything), let alone his own sister.

“I can’t,” Mickey hisses. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready yet, okay?”

Ian doesn’t say anything, but he reaches over and pats Mickey’s hair down, before slipping away to hide in the bathroom. Mickey watches him go and it hits him how much he fucking hates this, that they have to run away and pretend and be so goddamn careful all the time. He never wanted a normal relationship, he never even wanted a relationship, but then Ian knocked the whole fucking planet out of orbit and suddenly, Mickey never, in his entire life, hates having to hide who he is more.

He knows Mandy won’t even care, but he’s not ready to tell her, because the more people that know means the more risky it gets and the more risky it gets the farther Mickey has to distance himself from Ian, but he doesn’t want to run away and he doesn’t want to lose Ian, he just has no fucking idea how to make sure he stays.

Mandy calls his name again and he finds her in the kitchen, going through a pile of bills.

“Have you seen Ian?” she asks. “I went over to the Gallaghers' place, but none of them knew where he was. We’re supposed to study later.”

“No,” Mickey says. “Haven’t seen him since work,” and the lie feels like a knife to his chest.

\---

They collapse in the dying grass of the baseball diamond, sweaty and breathless and laughing as they pull their pants back on, because it’s the last day of summer and they want to make the most of it, and Ian just rode Mickey til he saw stars.

(Mickey had cracked open a bag of M&Ms at work and spelled out  _dugout_  on the counter in bright colors, and Ian read it and smiled and ate all the candies in less than 15 seconds, and Ian’s mouth still tasted like chocolate three hours later.)

Ian rolls over and they lie face-to-face, noses almost brushing as they stare into each other’s eyes, like something straight out of one of Mandy’s sappy romance movies that she pretends not to like. Mickey wants to push Ian away, but he’s too tired to care.

“You have nice eyes,” Ian says, the darkness making him open and braver, and he quickly brushes his fingers over Mickey’s eyelids, before snatching them back when Mickey glares at him. He’s not allowed to say bullshit like that. Mickey might get used to it.

 _I saw the color of your eyes at a fucking paint store_ , Mickey wants to say.  _I saw this green on the wall and the first thing I thought about was your eyes, that’s how fucking screwed I am, that’s how much I think about your stupid eyes._

“Don’t talk about my fucking eyes,” Mickey mutters instead.

Ian looks at him some more, and then he flips around on the grass and nudges his body backwards so his back is pressed up against Mickey’s chest. His skin is warm and wonderful, but Mickey’s brain betrays him and makes him squirm at the touch. Ian pulls Mickey’s hand over his chest, and that’s it, he can’t fucking handle this, his head and his heart are fighting a fucking war and his skin is tingling all over and he pulls away from Ian and scrambles to his feet.

Mickey’s heart damn near shatters at the look Ian gives him. Ian sits up and hugs his arms around his bare chest, and he looks sad and scared and small and it’s all Mickey’s goddamn fault, because he’s conquered everything except his fear at the way Ian makes his heart flutter and his hands itch to touch, to hold, to feel.

“I have to go,” he says. He has to go, because he can’t lie here and cuddle with Ian, because it’s everything he ever wanted and Mickey isn’t allowed to have things he wants.

He’s afraid of how much he wants to curl up with Ian, but he’s also afraid that he’ll never get the chance, and it hums through his veins like electricity and Mickey runs away again.

\---

Mickey keeps running for a long time.

Ian runs, too.

Except, they have to get tired eventually. They can’t run forever.

Mickey finds Ian in that stupid club, after all those months of being cold and alone and never knowing where Ian was, if he was safe, if he was okay, if he still thought about Mickey as much as Mickey thought about him.

He carries Ian home and he kisses him under the neon lights and he curls up next to him on Ian’s tiny bed, not caring that all the Gallaghers can see, and Mickey holds his hand when they sleep.

Mickey lets all the fear and hatred and anger bottle up inside him until it explodes.

“I’m fucking gay,” he yells at his father and the crowded bar.

Ian kisses the top of his head in the middle of the street and then Ian won’t get out of bed, and Mickey’s so fucking mad, because he’s finally ready, he’s ready to stick his heels in the ground and forget how to run away and then everything is fucked up.

He doesn’t want to lose Ian again, so he fights for him and he fights with him and he reads everything he can about bipolar disorder and he finds him the right meds, and it’s not fucking magic or anything, but Ian starts to get better.

Ian smiles at him across the bedroom for the first time in days, the late-afternoon light flickering across his face, and Mickey smiles back.

“I’m taking you on a date,” Mickey says, and his voice doesn’t even shake.

They go to the Alibi and Kev grins widely at them from across the bar as he makes drinks, and teases them for having matching haircuts and Mickey doesn’t feel afraid once.

He presses Ian up against the wall behind the pool table, kissing him quickly in the dark shadows at the back of the bar, where anyone could look over and see, but Mickey feels like he could take on the entire world if he needed when his lips are warm against Ian’s.

 _I’m ready,_  he breathes into Ian’s mouth.  _It took me a long time, but I’m ready. Let’s figure out the rest of our fucking lives together._


End file.
